Faith in the Flames
by Fading to oblivion
Summary: AU Fanfiction   GerIta, one sided  , includes smut in later chapters. Feliciano has always been chased by flames. He's had a messy brake up with his boyfriend and is desperate to get things together for himself again, no matter what it takes - He fails.


• **T a s t e _ O f _ F l a m e s •**

**C h a p t e r _ O n e – A s h e n _ L e t t e r s**

**T o _ b e _ c o n t i n u e d '**

_"Don't look don't look," The shadows breathe _

_Whispering me away from you_

_"Don't wake at night to watch him sleep_

_You know that you will always lose_

_This trembling _

_Adored_

_Tousled bird mad girl..." _

_But every night I burn_

_But every night I call your name_

_Every night I burn_

_Every night I fall again_

_"Oh don't talk of love," The shadows purr_

_Murmuring me away from you_

_"Don't talk of worlds that never were_

_The end is all that's ever true_

_There's nothing you can ever say_

_Nothing you can ever do..." _

_Still every night I burn_

_Every night I scream your name_

_Every night I burn_

_Every night the dreams the same_

_Every night I burn_

_Waiting for my only friend_

_Every night I burn_

_Waiting for the world to end_

_"Just paint your face," The shadows smile_

_Slipping me away from you_

_"Oh it doesn't matter how you hide_

_Find you if we're wanting to _

_So slide back down and close your eyes_

_Sleep a while _

_You must be tired..." _

_But every night I burn_

_Every night I call your name_

_Every night I burn_

_Every night I fall again_

_Every night I burn_

_Scream the animal scream_

_Every night I burn_

_Dream the crow black dream_

_Dream the crow black dream.. _

~ 'Burn', The Cure

* * *

><p><strong>S t a r t :<strong>

Feliciano could still remember it, even now. Yes, the brunette was breathing, living, but hardly /alive/, his clothes were in shreds, blackened by the fire, and his lungs consumed by smoke. There was a dull, dusty smell, clouding his mind. And with each step that the little Italian would take, the fire followed after, dancing over his footsteps, taking them in and turning them to flames, instead.

The flames would tickle around his legs, and at first it was not evident what they were. You couldn't feel the heat until they surrounded you, cutting off eyesight, and causing other senses to come to life.

Suddenly, you could smell everything. There was smoke, an underlying taste of charred wood, and then the sounds. The noises. Today, the weather was merciless, rain pouring at the rooftop without stop, the wind rustling through the trees and giving the feeling of something - or someone - approaching. Then the thunder and lightning would come, and Feliciano would cower under his bed.

At the time, he'd been shaking worth an inch of his life, unable to keep still. Paintings were falling all around him, crashing to the floor. With each piece of artwork it was a memory lost. Couching under a table was the safest place - nothing could fall on him, and as long as he was clutching the legs, then the furniture would stay put, too.

Voice broken, he tried to call out. Instead of being strong, able to carry over distances, like he hoped, it came out as a feeble croak which you were unable to hear over everything else.

"Germany- Ludwig! Fratellino!"

Nothing.

He'd called the fire brigade of course, and they were on the phone to him, as he clutched the outer shell of the device, straining his muscles to bend his fingers, digging into the plastic desperately.

Of course, now that he was replaying it in his head, the tempo was a lot slower paced. In reality, he'd dashed, banging into door frames, throwing him onto the grass, curling into a ball, weeping, sobbing. The tears would run down his face, mixing with the humid ear and ash to create a blackened trail down his ashen cheeks.

The women on the other end couldn't understand anything that he was saying, of course, not the frantic mutterings of "Ludwig said he would save me," and, finally, a short "Ve, O-Oh no!" as the Feliciano's shaking hand reached for the button that would end the call, pressing down on it, firmly.

His fingers brushed over the plastic, feeling all the little scratches that the small piece of equipment had forgone. Now, a nail catching in a button, he dropped it to the floor, his gazed fixed to it as the flames consumed the phone willingly.

Soon they'd reach his feet, curled in as they were. The flames are close enough now that Feliciano could feel the flames coming ever nearer - It didn't take long for them to crawl over the carpet, wrecking it as they went, before they lingered around his feet. Everything seemed to go far too slowly, then, almost as if they were avoiding him. They would circle around his body, closing in, before leaping for the kill, blackening skin as he shivered, trying to get away.

Of course it was no use. He couldn't use his voice, not now. The smoke was too close, and now he was inhaling it, offering himself up to the fire.

Why was he so scared? He wasn't human. He shouldn't be feeling this.

It was only after that the firemen came, with their pipes and hoses that things seemed to calm down. After he'd ran back inside, screaming with pain, to fetch the iron cross that really should have been around his neck, that Ludwig had given to him, years ago. That small reminder was all he could remember of the old times gone by, really.

Feliciano did pay much attention to the medical men. There was no point trying to assure them that he would be alright, and that he would heal quickly. No, it would only baffle them a little more, if anything. No matter - the drugs that they had used on him seemed to have some effect, despite the fact that he was not human. Well, it was that, or perhaps they had used that stuff called 'magic' that Arthur was always talking about. All theories aside, the effect was still the same. When he woke up, he had no idea where he was.

He could feel a burning in his leg, yes - A smell of absurd cleanliness coming through his nose, but nothing in the way of sight -. It was strange - his vision wasn't a grey colour as it would be when he closed his eyes, but brighter. If he had not known better, he would have said his eyes where actually open, and he was in-fact being blinded by a bright light.

Trying to force his eyelids open, this caused only a slight tingling feeling, a swelling, and then… fuzzy dots? Yes, that was brunette's vision was becoming clearer again, and he could actually see!

Ludwig, Lovino. The people he wanted. Left. No one was left, now - Unless the German man decided to come back, forgoing all of their past disputes. There would always be Antonio, but Feliciano was consent to see that he was making his older brother happy in ways that he, somehow, just couldn't do. He had no need of the Spanish man, not anymore.

Years later, now, he laid on his bed, flicking through the books. Edges of them were blackened still, a painful reminder, as he traced his finger across a spectacular drawing that had remained unrefined, smiling, a little tear running down his cheek. The small, iron cross was still next to him, salvaged through everything else - The one thing that he'd managed to save, out of all the memories he'd lost.

There was a certain irony in the fact that the only thing that was now left was letters of the past long gone. Most had been burnt, but a couple remained, and they were just about audible whereas he could make neither head nor tale of anything else.

He'd been examining a letter that his lost lover, Ludwig, had sent to him, when the fire started. Feliciano then ran the paper through his hands and feeling the way that it dusted across his fingers, rough and unforgiving, almost showing the emotions that it was evident that others had tried to get across in the words. The German man had always been strong, much more so than Feliciano could ever hope to be, and by keeping in contact, he was showing that he still had a hold of him. He could control the way that the other's emotions worked, and he could make him cry.

It was in bitter jest that the Italian man was crying, then.

Mainly it just hurt because he knew that such was exactly what Ludwig had intended for him, probably imagining it in his clear blue eyes as a ran the pen across paper, neat and organised even in such ordinary and mundane feats.

That was the last straw for him, when his eyes where blurred and red, and he had to rub them to make his vision return. It was then that he had picked up a candle from the dinner table and held it to the paper – setting the useless pages alight. Normally, he would not have been able to look, not been able to bare memories, a rather important and large part of his life going up in flames.

Now it seemed like release, it seemed like liberty, and he smiled.

But then, it had to come to an end, like most of the things that truly make your life happy. Soon the flames where over escalating, spiralling far, far out of his control. Out of the corner of his amber eyes, rising up, letting the letters to be and catching on the fraying of a carpet until they spread across the whole room.

But what about now, you ask? The present, not year ago in tragedies long foregone?

Feliciano couldn't help _shaking_, trembling, his fists clenched and arms rigid, tense, his collar bone gutting out from the skin that barely covered his chest. He knew it was stupid; it had been years now, but the memories where just as strong as they would ever be. They're alive on the walls were he has stuck photographs to the walls, hung canvas' on the wall. There's a different room for each era of his life, and it's all he can do to stop himself clutching at his heart and doubling over when he walks into the rooms.

You would expect him to be dumb still, struck by all the harsh words and slaps, traumatised by the fire. Instead, were the memories were as happy as could be, they now made him panic. But it didn't matter anymore, because there was no one to see him like this.

* * *

><p><strong>E n d : T o _ b e _ c o n t i n u e d ; <strong>

**N e x t _ c h a p t e r ? **

_Feliciano is reunited, whether he wants it or not, with his lost lover, Ludwig. We discover their history and why things have been so hard, and more drama insured. I hope you like my rather modest attempts, and please give me any constructive critism and reviews. _


End file.
